I wonder if the spaces, memory of what they have been, were kept .
 
The curtain is lowered.
Lights are switched off.
 
It's the last showing
 
The people who formerly filled up the halls let the silent inhabitants of time past.
Spiders spin their thread and the paintings that shined before, fade away and break. A dust atmosphere move around freely between the seats where the moths built their homes.
 
Ruins, Ruins..............
Plastic mixture of space and memory.
 
A triumphal and almost circus voice breaks the silence:
 
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the spectacular phenomenon of the film projector...
Lights, shadows oscillate and give shape to the dead spaces that for a moment revive the echoes of what they were.